


Evermore

by bbcherrytomato



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Betrayal, Curses, F/M, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-04-08 09:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14101971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbcherrytomato/pseuds/bbcherrytomato
Summary: Dramione with a touch of "Phantom of the Opera" and "Beauty and the Beast". Draco Malfoy disappears from Wizarding Britain due to an unfortunate "accident". Scarred and broken, he retreats to his ancestral home to a life of misery and solitude. Little does he know that the Manor holds secrets that will leave his salvation in the hands of a former enemy, Hermione Granger.





	1. A Stormy Night

**Author's Note:**

> **I wasn't supposed to post this story until it was finished, but I just couldn't help myself. This has been brewing inside my head for so long that I decided to give it a go lest it rob me of my sanity. For all those who already know me, this isn't going to be as long as "The Time-Turner". This was actually supposed to be a one-shot, but I'm not very good at those, so this is still going to be a multi-chaptered piece. By the way, anyone following TTT should rest assured that I'm already working on the next chapter. It's going to have an ending, no matter how long it takes :)**
> 
> **I hope you all like this one!**

He watched as the snowflakes drifted down to cover his garden. How he wished he could see her there, strolling down the pathway or going for her morning ride or even just picking a flower or two for his dinner table and study. But he knew that such a view would probably never be granted him again. He had set her free and who in their right mind would come back to their captor…especially when he looked like a monster?

Truth be told, it wasn't he who had held her captive. The Manor did that, due to a long-forgotten curse. And a month ago, he had finally figured out how to break it. It was a good thing, too, that he was able to perform the required rituals without a hitch. Good for her, at least, because nothing could have been worse for him. He'd been miserable since the day she left. In fact, he had spent more time perched on the balcony of the West wing tower room than anywhere else inside the manor. The tower gave him a clear, unobstructed view of the entrance to the estate, the one place that could bring him back to life. If only one slight figure would slip through its gates again…

And so, that's what he'd been doing all this time, watching, waiting, and hoping against hope that she would return to him. That in spite of everything that had happened between them, in spite of their not so pain-free history, she would come back and never, ever leave him again…

**********************************

ONE YEAR AGO…

The night had turned chilly once more. Even the blazing fire of the over-sized fireplace in his study could not chase away the freezing cold. He looked out the window and saw the frosted ground swirling with freshly fallen snow while the wind howled with fury. There's going to be a blizzard, he thought. Good thing the house elves had already stocked up for the winter. There wouldn't be much produce from the village in a few weeks. And since he could not go into the city…

He stalked away from the window and threw himself on the couch, his fingers unconsciously tracing the angry scars marring his once handsome face. Thinking of the city always awakened feelings of despair and he didn't want to dwell on them right now. He had already destroyed nearly half the manor during his rages and he was getting tired of chanting 'Reparo' at least three times a day. There was nothing he could do anyway, so there's no point in raging against his condition.

It's been two years since the 'accident' and he bore the scars from it, both in body and soul. Apparently, he was sleeping when a fire broke out inside his London flat. What he could not understand was how he could've slept through it all. He wasn't drunk, of that he was sure. He'd only had two glasses of mild, red wine during dinner and he had a very high tolerance for alcohol so he wasn't even tipsy when he left his date and went home. The last thing he remembered was apparating to his flat. He could not even figure out how he got into bed. However, as he later learned from one of the Muggle policemen who came to the hospital and questioned him about the fire, that was how the firemen had found him - passed out in bed and nearly engulfed by flames.

Unfortunately, that turned out to be the least of his worries. After consulting with Healers at St. Mungo's right after he was discharged from the Muggle hospital where he was taken by his rescuers, he was told that there was nothing to be done about the scars which covered three-quarters of his face and the entire left side of his body. They said that the fire wasn't an accident and his burns were caused by a Dark spell. And since it left no identifiable traces, they could not perform the necessary counter-curse. The fire was definitely conjured through dark magic, but it wasn't Fiendfyre either. All in all, his condition was hopeless. And that was why he retreated to the family Manor. He couldn't parade his deformed mien out in public now, could he? The controversy alone would kill him. Better propagate the rumor that he was tending to business abroad. He was, in spite of his family's involvement in the war, still the most eligible bachelor of Wizarding Britain, after all. His parents had made sure that no one would bother him in the country, encasing the entire estate in protective spells and enchantments that rivaled even those around Hogwarts. No one ever came near the mysterious Manor where inhuman screams could be heard every now and then, especially during the night.

Which was why he was completely caught by surprise when four of his house elves came rushing inside carrying what appeared to be an unconscious female in their tiny hands.

"What is the meaning of this, Mimsy?" he roared at the house elf nearest him.

The poor creature cowered in fear as she stepped back, her head bowed low.

"W-we's found h-her…s-sleeping n-near t-the r-roses, m-master," she squeaked.

"Sleeping? Sleeping out in the grounds? In this weather?" he growled. Only a fool would go out to brave an oncoming blizzard. Perhaps this girl was insane, he thought.

"No, master. She is felled by the roses, me thinks, Master. Look," Tinder, a wizened and ancient-looking elf said as he lifted the girl's hand towards his master. Tinder was probably the oldest of all their house elves, but he was also the smartest.

Cursing beneath his breath, he leaned down and looked at the thorns still embedded in the soft skin, blood slowly dripping from the cuts on her fingers.

The rose bushes were inside the garden, very near the gate, but still within the heavily warded grounds of the Manor. How could she have entered the estate without triggering the wards?

"Tinder, are the wards still up?"

"Yes, Master. Tinder always check it. The gate opened for her. Tinder saw it," he replied.

"What? Why would it do such a thing? Did you see her cast a spell?"

"No, Master. Tinder saw her walking and shaking. Then, she touched the gate and it opened. She only touched, no spell. Then, she walked in and touched the roses," Tinder said, his bald head bobbing up and down.

Shaking? She must've been shivering from the cold. But why in Merlin's name did she have to touch the roses? And what was she doing out there in the middle of an approaching snow storm?

He looked down at the girl again and noticed that she wore no gloves and her shoes did not have thick soles, therefore not meant for hiking. She was also wearing Muggle clothes - a pair of dark jeans, a pale pink jumper and a tan leather jacket with a fur-lined hood, which was partially covering her face. Something about her reminded him of someone from his distant past…a girl who had the ability to fascinate and frustrate him all at the same time. But it couldn't be her, could it? It's been five years since he last saw her during his family's final 'assessment' in London…two years after the war...one year after his probation cum rehabilitation and his father's stint in Azkaban. What would she be doing here?

His curiosity got the better of him, so despite his better judgment, he flipped the hood away from her face. Air was literally knocked out of his chest when he finally laid eyes upon the face that had once tormented him even in slumber.

"Granger," he breathed.


	2. The Host

Hermione woke up to a soft humming somewhere near her head. She nearly jumped when two, large green eyes greeted her. It was a house elf dressed in a pretty, pale blue frock.

"Mornin' miss. Would you like some breakfast?" the elf asked.

"Uhm…I'm not sure…where am I?" she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She felt sore everywhere. What happened to her anyway?

"You is in the most beautiful room in the East wing," the elf beamed.

That wasn't very helpful, but she didn't want to upset the poor girl so she just smiled back and glanced around, hoping to find clues regarding her whereabouts.

And indeed, the room was beautiful, stunning even. The walls were covered in cream and gold wallpaper while the floor was done in subdued bronze carpeting. It was so thick she knew her toes would get lost in it if she walked barefoot. The bed on which she now lay could easily accommodate five people. It had an ornate gold and bronze velvet canopy and intricately etched wooden posts. The beddings were also done in cream and gold, with fragrant, flouncy pillows. Gold and crystal lamps stood proudly on top of the two matching side tables, while a couch and two armchairs were gathered around a glass-topped, bronze coffee table at the far corner near the door.

A room fit for a queen, she thought. How on earth did she end up here? She remembered leaving the Ministry, being approached by a hooded, old man…and the rose! He gave her a beautiful, pale pink rose…and then she was standing in front of a huge, black gate. Is this the house beyond the gate? Who brought her here - to this room?

When she looked around the elf was putting a large tray laden with food on the coffee table. She could hear the well-dressed elf humming as she carefully laid out teacups and small plates on the side. A charming porcelain teapot followed to complete the set.

Well-dressed? Aren't house elves set free when presented with clothes? Why is she here, then? Is she getting paid to work for this family?

"Breakfast ready, Miss. Call Fifi when you is finished," she said, bowing low before disapparating with a loud pop.

"Wait, I want…" Hermione called after the elf, but it was too late. She was already gone.

Sighing, Hermione tossed aside the warm comforter and slid out of bed. It was only then that she realized that she was wearing an exquisite, emerald green nightgown.

What? Where are my clothes? And who changed me into this?

As if the room could read her thoughts, Fifi reappeared with another loud pop.

"Miss, Fifi forgot to tell you that you's clothes is in the dressing room," Fifi said, hopping with a big smile on her face to a door that Hermione hadn't noticed. The elf turned the golden knob and pushed the door open. Hermione gasped as she gaped at the biggest and most luxurious bathroom she had ever seen. It looked like what one usually saw in those expensive Muggle Interior Design magazines that featured the homes of royalty and famous celebrities. A bronze bathtub sat flushed against one wall opposite a shower enclosed in frosted glass. The walls and floor were of a soft cream marble. A stand-alone porcelain basin stood under a stained-glass window. To the left was another door. Fifi pushed it open to reveal a cozy, but well-appointed boudoir. And folded on a brocade-covered settee were her clothes, minus her wand and bag.

Hermione turned to question the elf about it, but she had already left. Again.

Why does she always do that?

Concluding that she would not get any answers from the elf, Hermione heaved the nightgown off, slipped into the stall and took a quick shower. She had to admit that she had never felt as refreshed as she did right after that. While dressing, she deliberated on her situation. Where exactly was she and who were her solicitous hosts? Clearly, this was a family homestead and not a bachelor pad, so there would probably be more than one occupant. She finished her toilette by taming her curls (or at least she tried to) with the bejeweled brush she found on the dainty Victorian table.

She had actually planned on leaving the room straightaway but the delicious aroma of fresh crumpets called to her. Grunting, Hermione indulged her growling stomach and swiftly gobbled up two. She downed her tea in one gulp (it wasn't that hot anymore) and rushed out of the room before she could succumb to the temptation of bacon and blueberry scones.

The hallway was just as elegantly decorated as the room she had left. Magnificent tapestries graced the dark mahogany walls every few feet. The gleaming brass sconces told her that this was a well maintained home. There were several doors along the way, but she bypassed them all. She needed to find her hosts so she could thank them and leave. She wouldn't have disapparated even if she had her wand; that would have been rude. Besides, houses like this one tended to be protected by powerful wards and even attempting to break through them could be dangerous.

Unfortunately, she was also now officially lost. She could not even return to the room she was earlier in even if she tried. She didn't want to summon Fifi, but if she wanted to get out of this labyrinth then she would have to enlist the help of the cheerful elf.

"Fifi?" she whispered, not sure if the house elf would hear her.

"Yes, Miss?"

Hermione squealed when the smiling elf popped right in front of her.

"Oh! Fifi is sorry for frightening lovely Miss," the elf said, hanging her head in shame.

"No! No! You didn't frighten me, Fifi. I was just surprised that you came so swiftly," Hermione said, leaning forward to tap the elf on the shoulder.

"Fifi will always answer Miss. Master told Fifi to answer Miss when she calls," Fifi nodded, her ears flapping around her beaming face. "What can Fifi do for lovely Miss?"

"Uhm…I'd like to meet my hosts. I have to go home and I'd like to thank them before I leave. Can you take me to them?"

"Surely, Miss. Just take my hand," Fifi extended a gnarled hand to Hermione.

"Oh! Can't we just walk? I rather enjoy looking at the tapestries," she said, smiling guiltily at the young elf. It was a white lie, but Hermione never quite liked the feeling of side-along apparition.

Fifi nodded and turned around. "This way, Miss. Young Master is in the gardens."

Hermione sighed in relief. At last, she would get some answers.

After traversing a couple of long corridors and two flights of stairs, they finally reached a set of French doors that opened into the loveliest garden Hermione had ever seen. How could a garden be in full bloom during winter? Tilting her head up, she saw the tell-tale sign of magic protecting it, detected only by those who knew what to look for. Even so, the garden was still amazing.

There were tall birches and luscious elms lining the perimeter and luxurious, multi-colored flora that she could not even identify dotted the grounds. But what really caught her attention was the gorgeous fountain at the center which was surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of red and white roses. It was like a scene from a fairy tale.

And there, strolling around the cobbled walkway leading to a gazebo was a hunched, hooded figure cloaked in black. Even hunched like that, Hermione could tell that he was a tall man.

Was he one of her hosts?

Before Hermione could ask Fifi, the elf was running down the stone steps, toward the one Hermione assumed to be her master. The hooded figure stopped in front of Fifi and leaned on a cane, attentively listening to the elf. The hooded head turned in her direction and although she couldn't see his eyes, Hermione felt the intensity of his gaze. Her stomach clenched when she saw Fifi and her master walking toward her.

Why did she suddenly feel so nervous?

The man had a pronounced limp and half his face was covered by his hood. Yet there was something familiar about him…something she could not place.

The unlikely pair stopped at the foot of the stairs, both of them looking up at her. She swallowed her feeling of dread and slowly walked down the steps. When she reached the bottom, the man, who really was as tall as she had assumed, gave her a small bow. Then, he straightened to his full height and stood ramrod straight before her, his gloved hands resting casually on the silver head of his gleaming ebony cane. Most of his face was covered by a plain white mask; only his lips and chin were visible. Still, she sensed the animosity in the slate gray eyes that were staring back at her.

Those eyes! Why do I feel like I've seen them before?

"Welcome to my humble abode, my lady," he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

She knew that voice! It was deeper than she remembered, nevertheless…

"MALFOY?"

"Granger," he replied through gritted teeth.

Hermione felt the bile rising to her throat. This couldn't be happening! What was she doing here? Did he kidnap her? But why would he do that? The war's been over for years! And what's with the Phantom of the Opera get-up? Is this some sort of sick joke?

"What is this, Malfoy? What am I doing here?" she whispered furiously, hands clenching at her sides as she tried to control her growing temper.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking that question, Granger? You're the one who came stumbling into my estate, after all. And in the middle of a blizzard, too," he replied.

Hermione could only imagine him raising his brows at her. The thought annoyed her. "If I had come here voluntarily, I wouldn't be asking you that question now, would I?" she spat.

"And if I had taken you here voluntarily, I wouldn't be asking the same, would I?" he retorted.

She didn't like it, but he did have a point. Well, that could easily be remedied. She could postpone her exploration of the reasons why she ended up here just to be rid of his company.

"All right, just give me back my things and I will leave right this very minute."

"Oh, no. It doesn't work that way, Princess. First, you have to tell me how you overcame my wards, then perhaps I'd let you leave," he said, fixing her with a stony glare.

"What? I don't even remember coming here!" she nearly screamed. Has he lost his marbles? How could she even dream of breaking through his wards when she didn't even know where she was?

"Well, then. I'm not giving back your things," he said.

"Fine. Keep them. But you can't make me stay," she said, stomping back up the stairs.

She had half expected a hex thrown at her, but not laughter. She swiftly turned on her heels, prepared to do battle when she slammed into his broad chest. Gloved hands gripped her arms to steady her wobbling form. Once she was stable enough, Hermione viciously pulled away from him and ran for the door. No one tried to stop her; the elves doing their chores in the foyer only gawked at her but said nothing. She heard Malfoy's lumbering steps behind her, each one echoing ominously in the hall. She didn't stop to look back, running faster until she reached the large double-doors.

"Granger, wait! You can't break through the wards!" she heard him say.

Steeling herself, she gripped the oversized brass knobs and flung both panels open. The sudden rush of cold wind nearly blasted her back through the doors, but she recovered quickly. Hunching her shoulders, Hermione braved the swirling, white madness and ran towards the massive wrought iron gates. She barely heard Malfoy bellow what seemed to be a warning when she was thrown back by an unseen force as soon as her fingers touched the gate.

The last thing she saw before everything went black were Malfoy's gray eyes staring down at her, his head shaking as he said, "I did warn you, Granger."


	3. Confirming a Theory

Draco paced around the dining room like a caged tiger. He couldn't believe that he was being stood up in his own house! It's been three days since Granger had locked herself up in the Gold Room. And she hasn't come out since. Although he had instructed his elves to never send her any food unless she left her room, he was sure that Tinder had purposely turned a deaf ear on him and was slipping her daily meals.

That's what you get for hiring house elves who think they know better than you! Tinder had been with the family since his great, great grandfather had been in diapers, so he had grown as arrogant as his masters. After the war, he and his mother had decided to free all of their house elves. A few left, but the majority remained, not really having anywhere to go. His mother took pity and let them stay on the condition that they would each receive a galleon for every month of service (that's as much as the house elves were willing to take, anything more and they would start banging their heads on the floor).

Tinder, being the eldest and wisest (and sassiest, he scoffed), was more like the majordomo. He's never really openly defied Draco, but he had a way of circumventing his master's wishes to align them more with his own. However, since the old elf's ways were usually much better than his, Draco never complained.

Until now. Tinder was spoiling his plans on making Granger's life miserable. He must be made to realize that Granger was not a friend, but an enemy. Or a former enemy, at least, but still not a friend! One would think that she was the new mistress of Malfoy Manor with the way the ancient elf fawned after her. He'd been like that ever since Granger had regained consciousness after being blasted away by the Manor's wards. The old elf seemed to have taken a shine on the 'helpless' girl.

Hah! Helpless? He could think of a thousand words to describe Granger but 'helpless' would not be one of them. Draco's fingers graced his nose, unhappily recalling the punch that Granger had given him on their third year at Hogwarts. Helpless my arse, he snorted.

He had put his foot down tonight. He ordered Tinder (threatened him with dismissal, actually) to inform 'Mistress' Hermione (that's how Tinder referred to her now) that she must have dinner with him or he'd be forced to let her starve. Tinder returned, red-faced, with a note from Hermione saying that she'd rather starve than eat with him.

_The nerve of that twit!_

"Master, food is getting cold," Mimsy whispered beside him.

He scowled down at the elf, his mind too preoccupied with thoughts of Granger that he did not notice Mimsy trembling as she took a tentative step away from him.

_What's she trying to prove by hiding inside that room? Aren't Gryffindors supposed to be brimming with bravado?_

_Bravado…bravery…_

He smirked as he started to formulate a devious plan to flush out the Gryffette. Without a word, he stalked away and headed for the East wing.

_Let's see if you're a true Gryffindor at heart, Granger!_

The house elves cleaning the chandelier in the hallway looked at each other, scratching their heads as they followed their Master's progress. Never before had they seen him walk with such a bounce in his step. And humming, too!

Draco stopped in front of the ornate door of the Gold Room and knocked.

No answer. He knocked again - louder this time.

"The door's open, Fifi," came the cheerful voice from within.

_Aha! So…she's on friendly terms with Fifi, eh?_

He wasn't really surprised by that. Granger's always been kind to the Hogwarts house elves. She'd even tried to free them all one time, darned bleeding heart! Good thing all his house elves were there of their own volition, otherwise, he might find himself in the middle of a mutiny!

He gently turned the knob and peeked inside. Scanning the room, he saw Granger sitting on the window seat…knitting! What was she knitting? Looking down at the basket beside her feet, he saw dozens of tiny socks and hats. He almost laughed when he realized who they were for.

Damned bleeding Gryffindor heart! Too bad, Granger. Even if my house elves were still under the enslavement of House Malfoy, they wouldn't take your socks and hats. They've got better taste than that! He sneered as he took on the bright and cheerful yellows, pinks and orange bundles in her basket. Still…a part of his frozen heart seemed to thaw at the sight of her lovely face scrunching up in concentration…her chestnut curls gleaming in the sun…her luscious, pink lips pouting slightly…as if waiting to be kissed. He wondered how they would feel like against his own…

_Wait…WHAT? Damn you, Draco! Take your mind out of the gutter! You really need to end your self-imposed celibacy!_

Cursing silently for nearly forgetting his real purpose in coming here, he flung the door open so violently it slammed against the wall with a bang. Granger jumped out of her seat, her knitting needles pointed at the source of the noise like a wand.

"MALFOY! What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"This is my house, Granger. I have every right to be here," he drawled.

_Stop looking at her flushed cheeks and pink lips, Draco, for Salazar's fucking sake!_

Hermione stood there glaring at him, her eyes flashing, her cheeks tinted red, her lips slightly parted as if preparing to harangue him, yet all Draco could think about was if she was as feisty as this in bed…and how he'd like to see if she really was!

_STOP IT, DRACO! It's just your hormones acting up! Remember why you're here!_

Willing himself to discard images of Hermione writhing in pleasure, Draco leaned against the door frame and folded his arms across his chest.

"You made me wait for more than an hour," he said.

Hermione tilted her head, her brows knitting together. Then, as the meaning of his words dawned on her, her lips tilted into an adorable smirk.

_ADORABLE? GET A GRIP, MAN!_

"I didn't ask you to wait. I believe I made it clear in my note that I'd rather starve than eat with you."

True. But he still waited, thinking that it was an empty threat. He should've known better.

"Really? And why is that, Granger? Scared?"

She gasped and turned a deeper shade of red.

"What did you say?"

"I asked if you're scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Me, of course!"

"You wish, Malfoy!"

"Well, why wouldn't you have dinner with your host like a civilized person?"

"Civilized? Hah! You're the one who's holding me captive here! Now, who's got a problem with civility, Malfoy?" she huffed, turning her back on him to look out the window.

Draco noted the stiffening of her spine. He chuckled inside. She's getting angry.

_Nearly there, Draco. Nearly there._

"I told you, it's the Manor that's holding you prisoner, not me. Do you think I enjoy playing host to the Bookworm Know-It-All and Bestfriend of Saint Pothead?" he snarled.

"Why did you want to have dinner with me then?" she whirled at him.

"I just wanted to confirm my theory," he said.

"What theory?"

"That the reason why you hadn't left this lovely room for three, whole days is because you're afraid of me."

"WHAT? I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU, FERRET!"

"Really?"

"YES, REALLY!"

"Then prove it, Granger. Be at the dining room in five minutes. If you're not there then I'd know that the War Heroine Hermione Granger is still afraid of Death Eaters. Even deformed and limping ones," he said, chuckling malevolently as he turned on his heels and headed down the hallway.

Several loud crashes were later heard from the Gold Room.

_Shite! She really is a feisty one! I wonder if…SHUT UP, DRACO!_


	4. Dinner and Books

Hermione gaped at the unbelievable sight before her. Not even during her seven years in Hogwarts had she been treated to a more sumptuous meal than the one awaiting her now. The variety of foods laid out on the long dining table would surely make Ron's mouth water, she chuckled inside. Was Malfoy trying to impress her? When she came down here (apparated with the help of Fifi since she'd lost most of her five minute deadline in throwing a fit), she had been expecting derision and antagonism, but Malfoy amazed her by acting the perfect gentleman. He'd even escorted her to her seat and pulled the chair for her. She'd been truthfully wary of that, anticipating a nasty prank from Malfoy. Thankfully, he did nothing of the sort.

_Hah! For all you know, he's just shoving his wealth and breeding in your face, Hermione! You're nothing but a filthy Mudblood to him after all._

It felt like such a waste, they wouldn't be able to finish even a quarter of this feast!

"I didn't know what you'd like to eat, so I asked Mimsy to tell the kitchen staff to be creative," Draco was saying, "and I must say that they'd outdone themselves this time."

Hermione couldn't be sure, but she detected some humor in his words. What's he playing at? Had he been so deprived of human contact that he'd even deign to speak amiably to her?

She decided to remain silent and concentrate on her food. The mushroom soup was heavenly! And the rolls! They tasted like manna from heaven! Even the butter was to die for…so creamy…so…

"What do you think, Granger?"

Realizing that Draco had just asked her a question, Hermione put down her butter knife and peered up at her host. "I'm…I'm sorry, what did you say?"

His shoulders visibly slumped, in anger or exasperation? She couldn't tell.

"I asked if you'd like to see the rest of the estate considering that you'd be here for well...quite a bit."

"A bit? How long is 'a bit'?" she asked.

Draco laid down his knife and fork to steeple his fingers in front of him. He seemed to be contemplating his answer.

"I really don't know. This is the first time that the Manor had done this. I'm not even sure if it's really the manor or something in the grounds that's doing this - holding you hostage, I mean. I've been doing some research about the spells woven into the construction of the manor, but it might take some time to figure out which one preventing you from leaving the grounds."

"You speak of the Manor as if it can think for itself," scoffed Hermione, spearing a carrot rather brusquely.

Draco leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Am I hearing this right? The great Bookworm of Hogwarts is unaware of the magic that goes into building ancient wizarding homes?" he snorted.

Hermione ignored him and continued eating her salad. Of course she would never admit to this pompous arse that he was right. The subject just didn't really interest her before since she had no intention of living in an 'ancient wizarding home', so she only read about it in passing.

"Muggle-borns," she heard Draco mutter.

Casting a deadly glare at her temperamental host, Hermione swallowed the retort that had begun in her throat. It would only start another round of useless argumentation with the Slytherin prince and she'd rather not spend more time in his presence than absolutely necessary.

As if sensing his guest's animosity, Draco resumed eating his steak in silence. Hermione was quite surprised by his sudden reticence. She was actually anticipating mockery and ridicule at her ignorance, but nothing came. It was slightly unnerving.

"Do you have a library?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Draco looked up and nodded. "Yes, we do. I'll take you there after dinner, if you like."

What is going on here? If she didn't know better, she'd think that Malfoy was actually trying to be nice to her. She reminded herself that this was Malfoy. There's surely a more sinister motivation to his actions than just being nice.

Still, she couldn't pass up the chance of being surrounded by books again. So, she smiled and said, "Thanks, I'd really like that."

Draco nodded back stiffly and they resumed with their dinner without another word. After indulging in every last bit of angelic pudding that she could lay her hands on, Hermione leaned back in her chair and daintily patted her lips with the immaculate white napkin. Soon after, Draco was on his feet gesturing for her to follow him.

"Come on, I'll show you the library," he said, limping out of the room.

_What really happened to this man? Why was his face covered with a mask and why's he limping?_

In spite of Draco's present encumbrance, Hermione still had to walk double-time to keep up with him.

_Why didn't he just apparate us both to where we're going?_

"I could apparate us there, but I doubt you'd enjoy holding my hand."

Again, there was that hint of humor in his tone.

_Was he enjoying himself? Should I be worried? Is he really taking me to the library? What if..._

Her head snapped to him at the sound of laughter.

"Don't worry, I'm really taking you to the library," he said.

"What? Are you reading my mind?" she retorted.

"No. But you're thinking really loud, Granger. And when I'm this close to someone, I can hear their thoughts whether I want to or not," he sighed as he lumbered up the stairs.

"You're a Legilimens, aren't you?" she asked.

"And an Occlumens, too, so don't bother trying to read my mind."

"Hey! I wasn't going to. I'm not that skilled with Legilimency yet. Not like you, anyway. I can tell that you're a natural."

"Hmm...hearing other people's thoughts is not Legilimency per se. As you very well know, Legilimency is more focused than that. You can sift through a person's memories using it."

"Why are you telling me all these?" she asked, skipping every two steps to keep up with him. For a man with a limp, Malfoy could really move fast.

"Just trying to make conversation," he replied.

"And why would you even want to converse with me?"

There was a bitter ring to his laughter this time.

"Well, Granger, in case you haven't noticed, we're the only two people here. I couldn't really hold a decent conversation with a house elf now, could I?"

He did have a point. Of course, she wouldn't tell him that, so they walked the rest of the way in companionable silence. It felt strange…she'd never shared a peaceful minute with Malfoy. Their every encounter was always riddled with insults and harsh words. But she found that she didn't dislike this new facet in their relationship.

_RELATIONSHIP? Have you gone daft, Hermione? You don't have any form of 'relationship' with the ferret! Not then, not now, not ever!_

Malfoy stopped in his tracks and turned to her, his slate-grey eyes boring into hers.

_Damn it! Did I think too loud again?_

"We're here," he simply said, pushing open a large, mahogany door etched with ancient runes.

Hermione almost fainted at the sight. The library was far better than she'd expected. Way, way, waaaaaaay far better!


	5. Treachery

It's been three weeks since Granger had arrived at the Manor. Three weeks since his world had become more bearable. He didn't know how they came about an unspoken truce, but somehow they'd begun to spend more and more time together without even meaning to.

And without much argument, as well!

All right, that's pushing it a bit far. They still argued. A lot. But about academic things!

It was to be expected considering that they both loved to read and study. So, naturally, they also had differing opinions regarding almost everything. They often would debate from sunup to sundown, breaking only for meals. Their talks were always challenging, stimulating and exhilarating. Never before had Draco found someone who could shoot down his theories point by point or make him agree to theirs after a long and exhausting discussion.

Their intellects matched and Draco felt himself admiring the Muggle-born witch's brain.

But more than that…he found himself getting attached to her.

Not a moment passed by that he wasn't thinking of her - anticipating their next conversation, their next horseback ride, their next sunset viewing, their next…anything! He didn't really care what they did, as long as they did it together.

He raked his fingers through his ruffled mane and jumped to his feet.

_No! Of course not! I'm just…well…she's the only other human being here! And Merlin knows how long I'd been all alone in this humongous house. Except for the elves, of course. But I couldn't very well go horseback riding with them now, could I? Or discuss the Goblin revolt or the intricacies of arithmancy or…or…the differences and similarities between the Muggle and the Wizarding way of life! I was just starved for company…Yes! That's it! I was just lonely! And she came along when I was at my lowest!_

He snorted and flopped back down in his chair.

_Who am I kidding? She's always fascinated me, even at Hogwarts. And I hated her for that!_

His thoughts were interrupted by the now familiar sound of her voice. He strained to hear what she was saying, but he could not make it out, so he moved to the window and looked down into the gardens.

She was sitting cross-legged on the thick grass under the enchanted dome protecting the garden, tying a bundle of wild flowers with colorful bows. Now he understood why he could not clearly make out her words - she was singing! Humming and singing! He could not help but smile at the innocence of her pose. He had returned her things to her, including her wand, the day after he showed her the library, but she still preferred to do 'manual labor' (as she laughingly referred to picking flowers) whenever possible. Fifi and Tinder came into view, bringing more wild flowers with them. She thanked them and gathered the flowers into her basket - the one that used to hold dozens of knitted socks and hats. He later on learned that she already knew that the elves had been freed and that they were receiving monthly salaries. The socks and hats were just her way of thanking them for taking care of her.

He found himself smiling at the memory. She looked lovely then as she stood her ground, waving those ridiculous knitting needles at him. And she's even lovelier now…

_Fuck! You're in deep trouble, mate!_

He pushed away from the window and started pacing up and down his study. He must not think of her that way! He would just be setting himself up for a massive heartbreak. How could he even consider himself worthy of her? He was never, ever worthy of her…not then…not now…

Especially not now! What girl in her right mind would ever want to be with a disfigured and hobbling idiot? He didn't possess a lovable personality either…

Taking off his mask, Draco skimmed his fingers along the angry scars on his face. He could not even bring himself to look at his reflection in the mirror! How else could someone as beautiful as her….

Three, soft knocks dragged him from his dismal musings.

"Malfoy?"

It was Granger! Hurriedly, he put the mask back on and pulled up his hood.

"Yes, Granger, come in," he said.

The door swung open and in she walked with her basket of flowers.

"Are you hungry? Would you like me to have some biscuits sent up?" she asked as she replaced the dried flowers on his desk with her newly-picked ones.

"No…I'm okay," he replied, leaning back in his chair.

This had become one of their routines. He would spend every Tuesdays or Fridays in his study, usually in the afternoons. She would come in either with snacks or flowers, sometimes both. She would putter around, rearranging things (which sometimes drove him mad) as he went over his correspondence and the reports from his managers, lawyers and Gringotts agents. Most of their businesses had been placed under his supervision even though his father was still the head of House Malfoy. And he'd been doing it from here ever since the 'accident'. After he was done conducting business, they would sit in front of the fireplace, sip tea and discuss their theories or what they'd found out about the curse of the rosebushes.

At first, it was a sore point in their…'relationship' (he cringed at the word, knowing that Hermione would hex him if he ever used it to refer to what they had in front of her). The night that he showed her the library was a turning point for both of them; he should've known that the way to the Gryffindor witch's heart was through books. She never locked herself up inside her room after that and became quite tolerant of his presence.

When she asked about the curse, he told her everything that he'd found out so far. She took down notes and began a journal of sorts. Draco still marveled at Hermione's ability to set aside her personal feelings in pursuit of the solution to a problem. As soon as they'd reached a tacit agreement that they needed to solve the mystery together, she acted like all those years of enmity between them never existed. As they delved deeper into the mystery of the rosebushes they realized that they also needed to learn about the history of Malfoy Manor.

It turned out to be much more complicated than they'd anticipated. Malfoy Manor was built in the late 1000's, probably about 1066 or later, after their ancestor, Armand Malfoy, who was originally from France, had been given parcels of land as payment for services rendered to the new king, William the Conqueror. They had searched the library, and even his study, but they didn't find anything that was remotely near that era. And they had both agreed that the answers to their current predicament could go back as far as the time that the foundations of the Manor were laid. The most ancient tome that they had unearthed was dated 1560 - a diary written by a certain M. B. Malfoy. It contained nothing useful - except perhaps a glimpse into what a young bride thought of her new husband.

"Did you turn up anything interesting in the library today?" he asked.

"No. I decided to take a break. It might give me fresh eyes when I return there tomorrow," she replied, sitting on the chair facing his desk.

"Tomorrow? Aren't we going there tonight?"

"Well…if you want to…but I was planning on taking a stroll in the gardens after dinner. There's going to be full moon tonight," she said.

His reply was cut short when Tinder suddenly popped up in the middle of the room.

"Master! You have to come to the stables! Something terrible happened!" he said, wringing his hands before disapparating with another loud pop.

Hermione was beside him in a flash, her hand gripping his arm as they disapparated to the stables. What greeted them made Draco's blood boil.

Lying on the straw-strewn stable floor was an old elf with an odd expression on his face. His eyes were staring unseeing at the ceiling, his lips stretched in what appeared to be a cross between a grimace and a scream. But what really caught Draco's attention were the elf's hands. They looked like they were grabbing at something. When he leaned down to inspect the fisted hand, he discovered a piece of dark cloth trapped within. He carefully pried the stiff fingers apart and pulled out the cloth. Hermione was kneeling beside him, eyes brimming with tears. She'd come to know the wizened elf through their bi-weekly rides around the estate. Luli always had a cheerful greeting whenever they came around, endearing him not only to Hermione but to Draco as well. He also kept the stables spic and span and the horses clean and well-fed.

"What happened to him?" Hermione sobbed, reaching out to close the elf's eyes.

Draco shook his head, unable to give voice to the rage that he was feeling.

"Master, look!" Tinder exclaimed, pointing at the amber liquid slowly spreading from underneath a neat clump of straws stacked in one corner of the stable.

Hermione jumped to her feet and ran towards it.

"Hermione! Be careful!" Draco called out as he, too rose to his feet.

"I think it's…" she paused, dipped her finger on the liquid and sniffed it, "whisky."

"Whisky? Why would there be whisky here?" Draco whipped his head around at Tinder. "Does Luli like to drink?" he asked.

The old elf shook his head. "No, Master. Luli hate drinkings," he replied.

"Please get a vial, Tinder," Hermione said.

Tinder nodded and disapparated. When he came back he gave a small phial with a stopper to Hermione. She removed the stopper and with her wand, transferred the remaining liquid into the phial.

"We need to find out what's in this. I have a feeling that this isn't just whisky," she said, swirling the amber liquid inside the phial.

"What made you say that?" Draco asked, not really following.

"Look at this," she said, lifting a large shard of glass. "It has the Malfoy crest. This is from one of your decanters. I wouldn't be suspicious if the whisky was still in its original bottle - any one of those villagers delivering goods could've left it here," she said, rising back up to her feet. "But this makes it look more suspicious."

Draco now saw where she was going with this. He never liked pouring from the original bottle, preferring to transfer his liquors into decanters to let them breathe. And all his decanters bore the Malfoy crest. Deliveries were never allowed in the main house, so this couldn't have been stolen. But, clearly, someone took it out of the house.

_The question was - who would be foolish enough to sneak into the house to steal a measly decanter of whisky? And why hide it here in the stables? Why not take it with them?_

He glanced back at the body of his faithful elf. Sorrow gripped his heart. These elves chose to stay with him even though they had been granted their freedom. They were his responsibility.

"Tinder, does Luli still have family left?" he asked the elf.

"No, Master. Luli is alone," Tinder replied, brushing an arm across his nose.

"See to it that he's taken care of. We'll bury him tomorrow," he said, turning away from the macabre scene. Hermione was now standing beside him, her hand resting on his arm. He gripped her cold fingers and apparated them both back into the main house.


	6. Venom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione discovers that there's someone trying to kill the heir of House Malfoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **So sorry for the long absence. If anyone's still following this story, thank you so much!**

Hermione sat back and watched as the remaining portion of the liquid she had found in the stables simmered inside the small, pewter cauldron. She had tested it for three of the most common types of poison in the wizarding world and she had already crossed off hemlock and belladonna. Chemicals were out of the question since wizards didn't really dabble in them - too Muggle. That's why she focused on natural poisons.

She actually wished that her intuition was wrong because if she was right, then someone out there was trying to kill Draco.

_Hah! As if you didn't wish it yourself before, Mudblood!_

She grimaced as she thought of what Draco would've said. Yes, they were enemies, long-time enemies, in fact. And he'd hated his guts. But that was before!

Now…

Now, she didn't know how she felt about him…

_Dammit, Hermione! Have you gone daft? You DON'T feel anything for him!_

_Oh, shut up, hypocrite!_

A hand slapped against her forehead when she realized what she was doing.

_Sweet Merlin! I'm arguing with MYSELF! This is NOT GOOD!_

Jumping up from the stool, she glanced at the walls of the lab to distract herself. Who knew that the Malfoys had their own laboratory in the dungeons?

A portrait of a young Draco caught her eye making her walk over. It was of an 8 or 9-year-old Draco tinkering with vials and colored liquids. He was mixing them all in the same small pewter cauldron that she was now using, glancing self-consciously every now and then at the camera. Picture Draco stirred the concoction in the cauldron as it gave off steam that changed colors. When the smoke turned pink, Draco reached inside with a pair of tongs and took out a beautiful, red rose. He smiled widely as he held up the rose in triumph.

Hermione wondered what he was doing. She'd never come across a potion that could produce a rose before. Perhaps he was using an old Potions Playset. She had helped Ron buy one for Teddy's birthday. They argued about it, of course, Ron saying that Teddy would much prefer a Play Broomstick. She won the argument, naturally, when she pointed out that a harmless color-changing, water-based, make-believe potion had less chance of making a five-year-old boy fall and break his bones.

The hissing sound coming from her own cauldron made her run back to it. Her blood ran cold when it started giving off bitter-smelling, green fumes.

_Damn! Sometimes I really hate being proven right! We need to talk, Malfoy!_

***********************

She found him in the kitchen, surrounded by about a dozen house elves. She didn't know that he had so many. Well, considering the size of the estate, he really should've had more.

Most of the elves were looking up at him with wide, fearful eyes. Some were either sniffing loudly or glaring at the floor in anger. Tinder looked like he'd taken the death of Luli personally. Hermione feared what the old elf would do if he came across his friend's murderer.

As Draco's talk came to a close, Hermione felt his genuine grief at losing Luli. Yet there was a hard determination in his voice when he promised the rest of the house elves that he would not stop until the criminal was apprehended. The elves nodded vigorously, murmuring amongst themselves. They slowly dispersed when Draco stood from the chair and turned away from them. He stopped short when he saw Hermione standing there waiting for him.

"All done?" he asked.

She nodded, "We need to talk."

"Let's go to my study," Draco said, limping past her.

"Don't you want to apparate?" She knew how difficult it was for him to walk long distances. When the hooded figure walked out without a word, she shook her head and followed, dutifully keeping her silence.

Upon reaching the study, Draco went directly to his mini-bar and took a swig of Ogden's Old straight from the decanter. Hermione had to stop herself from chastising him for his carelessness.

"I poured the whisky into this myself, so I'm not being careless," he said, smirking.

She scowled at him. "I really hate it when you do that," she said.

"Then, try to think quietly, Granger," he snapped.

"And how do you propose that I do that?" she retorted.

Draco shrugged as he dropped into one of the armchairs, the half-empty decanter still in hand.

"I don't know. Maybe you should stop thinking while you're in my presence," he smirked.

Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered, "Hah! As if it's that easy."

Draco chuckled and took another swig of whiskey. Hermione huffed and stomped towards him, grabbing the bottle before he could take another sip.

"Hey!" he protested.

"I told you, we need to talk. And you need to be sober to do that!"

"For your information, I have a very high tolerance for alcohol, Missy. It would take more than half a bottle to get me pissed. Not that I wouldn't mind getting thoroughly pissed now," he said.

She sighed, plunking down on the seat beside him.

"It's snake venom. Someone put snake venom in your whiskey," she said.

She nearly jumped when Draco abruptly burst out laughing.

"What's so funny? Some evil person just tried to kill you with snake venom and you're laughing there like it's the most amusing thing in the world! What's wrong with you?"

Draco shook his head as his laughter wound down to soft chuckles.

"Don't you get it? The Slytherin symbol is a snake, the Malfoy crest also has a snake, so I'm represented by snakes! Can't you see the irony? A snake killed by snake venom. Poetic, isn't it?"

She had to admit that she did fail to see that. Then a sudden thought hit her.

"Or…A snake being killed by another snake!"

Draco shot forward, elbows leaning on his knees as he turned to her. She could almost hear the gears in his head whirring as he digested what she had just said.

"Another Slytherin?"

"Why not? Even during the war, not all Slytherins at Hogwarts went over to our side. Perhaps there's a Slytherin out there who still bears you a grudge," she said.

Draco's hooded head snapped away, like he couldn't bear looking at her. Hermione glanced at his mask, a grim thought forming.

Could his old injuries be related to this new attempt in his life?

"Draco…I…I don't mean to pry, but…"

"You want to know about the mask and the limp. Took you that long to drum up enough curiosity, eh, Granger?" he chuckled softly.

"I've been curious from day one! I just thought that…"

"You would be prying?" he asked, glancing back at her. She nodded.

"I know you were not wounded during the war…I saw you at the Ministry…"

"During my family's trial. Yes, I saw you there, too."

Draco leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"Okay. Two years ago, there was a fire in my flat. The Muggle firemen who rescued me said that I was passed out in my bed so I didn't realize that I was being burned alive. The Muggle doctors suggested plastic surgery, but…well…you know me," he snorted, peering back at Hermione. Both of her hands were covering her mouth in apparent horror. He ignored the pity he saw in her eyes.

"I didn't trust those Muggle doctors, so after I was released from the hospital, I went straight to St. Mungo's believing that the Healers would be able to fix me up with a wave of their wands. Unfortunately, they said that the fire was caused by a dark spell…"

"Fiendfyre?" Hermione interrupted. He shook his head.

"No…much darker because it left no identifiable traces. One of the Healers said that it was probably a modified version of Fiendfyre. The curious thing was that the fire was concentrated on me alone. Even my bed did not burn down. It baffled the Muggles but they dismissed it to my furniture's excellent fire-proofing!" Draco laughed bitterly.

"Perhaps you can go back to the Muggle doctors. There's been a lot of deve-"

Draco cut her off with a snort. "Three-quarters of my whole body's been burned, Granger! They'd have to peel off everything and wrap me up in a new skin for it to work! I can't even straighten my left arm or fully bend my left leg. That's why I walk with a limp!"

Hermione reached out to touch his arm. Draco shot out of the chair like he was doused with scalding water.

"Draco…"

"I don't need your pity, Mudblood!" he spat and disapparated from the room with a crack, leaving Hermione staring at the spot where he stood just a second ago.

_Dammit! What have you done now, Hermione!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed that! Looking forward to some comments from y'all!


	7. Declaration of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets hurt and Draco decides to go after whoever is trying to kill him.

It's been five days since he blew up at Granger and he was getting more and more miserable by the day. He avoided her like the plague not because of anger but because of shame. He couldn't believe that he'd called her by that stupid word again! Even his father had stopped using the M-word years ago!

And why did he have to push away the only person who was genuinely empathizing with his pain?

His parents were more concerned with what people would say if they found out about his new 'condition'. That's why they covered up the whole incident at his flat, even to the point of obliviating the Muggles who rescued him and attended to him at the hospital. But they never once asked him what he was feeling. They never visited him here either. Sure, they would write once in a while, just to make sure that he was still alive, but they never came to look in on him. He also knew that the only reason his father did not remove him as head of Malfoy Industries was to avoid further controversy. Tongues would wag if the only heir was replaced without any explanation. And since his mind was not affected by the fire, his father was confident that he'd be able to do his job as expected.

Granger was actually his first human contact since his exile.

And he'd ruined whatever progress he'd made with her…

_Fuck! Don't go there, Draco! Just DON'T!_

He had destroyed his room for the third time that day and he grudgingly whispered 'Reparo' (again) on everything that had the misfortune of straying in his path. He didn't want Tinder running to 'Mistress Hermione' about what he had done so he tried to keep the ruckus to a minimum. She had actually tried to draw him out of his room. On the third day of his self-imposed banishment, she came banging on his door, demanding entrance. She had screamed at him from outside, saying that she was tired of his spoiled-brat tantrums. She said that he was acting stupid and selfish and…well, as it turned out, Granger had quite a colorful vocabulary. He almost succumbed, had it not been for his humongous pride. If he came out then, Granger would know how much sway she had on him and he couldn't have her believing that. So, he ignored her and put more powerful silencing and locking charms on his door.

She never came back after that.

But now, even he was getting tired of his 'spoiled-brat tantrums'. He couldn't avoid her forever! Besides, he needed fresh air, a change of scenery, a lovely face…

_FOR SALAZAR'S SAKE, DRACO!_

If someone had told him a year ago that there would come a time when he would pine for Granger, he would've hexed them to oblivion!

_What can I do? The damned witch wriggled herself into my heart!_

He laughed at that. If only Pansy could see him now. She used to tell everyone who cared enough to listen that Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince had no heart, or if he did, that it was a shriveled up, dead thing.

He once thought that she was right. But then, if she was, then what was that thing inside his chest that seemed to swell at the sight of Granger or was slowly breaking now due to her absence? He'd had many girlfriends, of course. Getting a girl to say yes to him was as easy as breathing. Discarding them after he'd had his fun was even easier. Just a few expensive baubles here and there, not even enough to put a dent to his personal vault, and they would say goodbye without a fuss.

So, why was he feeling like this about Granger?

_Maybe, because I hadn't had her yet?_

He dismissed the idea in an instant. Yes, he lusted after her, but that wasn't all. He wanted more…needed more from her.

The loud whinny of a horse pulled him from his thoughts. He ran to the window and looked out, a feeling of dread slowly creeping up his spine. From the distance, he saw Granger struggling with Ginger, her favorite mare. Ginger was one of the gentlest, most reliable horses in his stables so why was she acting like that? He gasped when Granger was thrown off the agitated horse, but his heart froze when she did not rise to her feet. Without thinking twice, Draco was instantly apparating to where Hermione lay immobile.

"Hermione! Hermione!" he growled as he tapped her cheeks.

Her eyes fluttered open. "D-draco...something…bit me," she whispered.

"What? Where?" he asked, frantically looking her over.

She lifted her hand and Draco's heart skipped a beat. That's what spooked Ginger! He swore magnificently, immediately recognizing the two pin-sized punctures on Hermione's hand that were oozing blood - snake bite!

o-O-o

If Draco never appreciated his education at Hogwarts before, he was most appreciative of it now. And in turn, he silently thanked his old Potions teacher, Severus Snape, for drumming into their minds the importance of keeping a well-stocked Potions cupboard at all times.

He sighed as he looked down at Hermione's sleeping form. The anti-venom potion had worked perfectly well. It was only the Sleeping draught he'd given her that had kept her slumbering this late. Fifi had stayed with her the whole night, while Draco burned the midnight oil in the dungeons analyzing the venom he had extracted from the snake they had caught.

Actually, it was Tinder who caught the asp. After Luli's death, the old elf had apparently embarked on a personal crusade against all snakes and had gone on a hunting trip upon learning about what happened to his Mistress Hermione. Draco rewarded the elf's efforts by informing Tinder of his findings - the venom from the asp was of the same variety as the one that Hermione found in the stables the night that Luli died. Smug satisfaction crossed the old elf's face knowing that he had at least contributed to the partial solution to this mystery.

But that was just the first of many steps that they must take to catch the perpetrator of the crime. Luli may have been a simple elf but Draco took his death personally. It was an affront to him not only because whoever had killed him had dared to do it under his nose, but more because Luli was under his protection. And now, Hermione was also hurt. They may not have been friends during their Hogwarts years, but things had changed ever since she came here. They'd bonded, somehow, and she was also hurt during his watch. Granted, he could not have known that there was a deadly asp on his property, still had he not been skulking inside his room, she probably wouldn't have gone riding alone. She wouldn't have fallen off her horse. She wouldn't have been bitten.

"I can hear you grunting and sighing, you know," Hermione's voice was weak, but it rang with her usual cattiness.

Draco chuckled and sat on the edge of Hermione's bed. He reached out for her hand and squeezed it.

Hermione squeezed back.

"How are you feeling, Princess?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Are you teasing an invalid?"

Draco snorted. "Self-pity doesn't suit you."

"Neither does it you," she smirked.

He wanted to protest, but he knew that she was right. "Touchѐ, Ms. Granger."

"Did you catch the snake that bit me?"

Nodding, he added, "Its venom is the same as the one that we found in the decanter."

A small grin briefly crossed Hermione's face before she gave out a muffled yawn.

"I'm sorry," she said, blushing.

"It's okay. I gave you a sleeping-draught to help speed up your recovery. Go back to sleep and we'll talk tomorrow."

"Okay. But you have to bring me up to speed first thing in the morning."

"Yes, ma'am," Draco chuckled and gave Hermione a mock salute.

Hermione smiled before her eyes drifted close.

_Damn it, Draco! Stop it! You can't kiss her! Not even on her forehead!_

Sighing once more, Draco started to get up from the bed when he realized that he was still holding Hermione's hand. He looked down at their clasped hands, her smaller one laying inside his like it belonged there. And before his damned inner voice could stop him, Draco lifted her hand to his lips and planted a swift, chaste kiss. He froze when upon returning his gaze to her he found her deep, brown eyes staring at him with an inscrutable expression. He tried to pull his hand away but Hermione held on, a gentle smile gracing her pale lips.

"Goodnight, Draco. Thank you for saving me," she said quietly, squeezing his hand.

"Goodnight, Hermione. You're welcome," he replied, squeezing back. It was only when he was sure that Hermione had drifted back to sleep that he let go of her hand.

He would've spent the whole night sitting at the edge of her bed, her hand securely held in his, counting the hours until the sun came peeking out of its dark blanket, but he couldn't. His conscience would not let him. Because now he was sure that someone had just waged war on him. And he couldn't let a single minute pass by without doing anything to uncover the mastermind behind this dastardly plot. He must find the bastard (or bastards) who had the audacity to attack him in his own turf. No one attempts to harm a Malfoy and gets away with it.

Especially not when someone under his care gets harmed in the process.

Not when the woman who's starting to mean something to him is placed in mortal danger.

He must formulate his own battle plans. If it's war they want, it's war they'll get. And he will use every weapon in his arsenal.

But first, he needed information. Fortunately, he has more than enough possible spies that he can send out to gather that for him. Casting one last glance at the sleeping Hermione, he walked towards the door and once outside apparated to the kitchens where he found Tinder preparing for dinner.

"Tinder, gather everyone. We have a lot to discuss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, please?


	8. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco continue their research about the history of Malfoy Manor. Draco receives heartbreaking news about his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A big, big thanks to all those who bookmarked this story, commented and left kudos. You're the ones who keep me writing. And to show my appreciation, I'm posting this new chapter early. Enjoy!**

The days had turned into a full month and yet they were nowhere near to uncovering who was behind the murder of Luli and the attempt on Draco's life. Today found the Malfoy heir lounging in the library, sitting across Hermione as she did more research, pretending to act nonchalant about the tardiness of the five house elves he had sent out to spy on their former masters. All of the Manor elves, except for Tinder, Fifi, and Mimsy, had been hired by his mother after their actual owners passed away. The heirs of the Houses they served, balking at the passage of the new Magical Creatures Employment Laws, had chosen to free them instead of abiding by what they deemed to be a travesty to Pureblood traditions. Every one of them had also been personally recommended by Tinder, so Draco was sure that the five 'spies' could all be trusted with their delicate assignments. He just hoped that the absence of the five he'd sent out was not because they had put themselves in harm's way. House elves were known for doing heroic acts to please their masters, just as Tinder had done when he single-handedly hunted down the asp that had bitten Hermione.

The old, gruff elf's devotion to her still baffled Draco at times, but he was grateful for it. Life in the Manor would've been much harder had the old elf not taken an instantaneous liking to the former Gryffindor. Freed house elves weren't as docile as those who were still bound to their Houses, especially not those with Tinder's temperament. He could easily make life miserable for Draco if he wanted to. Fortunately, Tinder's sense of loyalty was as impeccable as ever, in spite of his newly acquired freedom from eternal bondage. Draco doubted if he would've survived his self-imposed exile had Tinder not been there.

Speaking of which, he wondered where that imperious creature had gone to. He hadn't seen him since breakfast and it was almost dinner time.

Turning to Hermione, who had her head buried in a large, ancient tome, he asked, "Did you send Tinder out on an errand?" Whenever Hermione needed anything from the village, Tinder took joy in attending to the matter personally.

"Uhm...no, why?" she replied without taking her eyes off the book.

Draco rolled his eyes but chuckled inside. Typical Granger.

"I haven't seen him since morning. It's not like him to just delegate everything to his staff. He's a control freak," he said, craning his neck to take a peek at what had got her so engrossed.

"Why don't you ask Mimsy? He always leaves instructions with her when he goes out," Hermione said, scribbling in her journal.

Now, why didn't I think of that? He thought with a shake of his head, impressed at how fast Hermione had familiarized herself with the inner workings of his household when he himself still had difficulty remembering all of his house elves' names.

"Mimsy?" he called.

The summoned elf appeared beside him with a loud pop.

"You called, Master?"

"Where's Tinder?"

"T-Tinder...s-sir?" Mimsy stammered, twisting the hem of her pink, striped apron.

"Yes. Did he leave the Manor?"

Mimsy gaped up at him with wide eyes, the color draining from her wrinkled face. Draco sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He could tell that the elf was scared, but he couldn't dismiss her like he usually did when she got that way. Not this time.

"Mimsy, please tell me where Tinder is," he said, as gently as he could. "I'll tell him that I forced you to talk to me. You don't have to be afraid that he'll reprimand you, okay?"

Mimsy nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. "Tinder looking for Koopy, Snag, Tookey, Tork, and Gimp. He is saying they's need to come home. Now!"

"What? Why didn't he tell me first?" Draco regretted the sharpness of his tone when he saw Mimsy cower before him, her fingers frantically twisting her apron. "It's okay, Mimsy. I'm not angry. I'm just...concerned. As soon as Tinder gets back, tell him that I'd like a word, okay? You may go back to...well...whatever you were doing. Thanks, Mimsy."

Mimsy curtsied and disapparated with another loud pop.

When he looked up, he saw Hermione looking at him with worried eyes.

"I'm sure he's okay. That old coot is more resourceful than he appears. He'll be back here in no time," Draco said, not just to reassure Hermione, but himself as well.

Hermione nodded and gave him a small smile before returning to what she was doing. Now, Draco was intrigued. Hermione was not one to just let go of a subject, especially when it involved house elves. He rose to his feet and walked over to the other side of the mahogany table where several large tomes were spread out in front of her.

"What's that you're reading? And what are all these notes?" he picked up a piece of parchment and read what she had written. Runes.

"Remember that diary we found? The one about the young bride - M. B. Malfoy? I think we should take another look at it," she said, grabbing a few of her notes. "Based on these accounts, it appears that the first Malfoy bride to have really resided here in the Manor was a Madeleine Beaufonte. She was married to the heir of House Malfoy, Alphonse, in the spring of 1560. Look at this," she said, turning the book around toward him. "It says that at first, what everyone called Malfoy Manor actually consisted of three separate structures - the main house, servants quarters, and the kitchens. Apparently, the main house, where the couple first took residence, burned down in 1561, a year after they were married. Construction on the new, bigger, and sturdier Manor began right after. It doesn't say here when it was finished...but," she gasped, her hand going to her mouth to cover it.

"...Another fire broke out in 1565, killing Madeleine," Draco finished for her, reading from the ancient tome. An uneasy feeling washed over him. He could've died the same way. Hermione pulled the book back to her and continued reading.

"It seems that they were a tragic couple," Hermione said, her finger tracing the words as she continued reading. "Alphonse died the next year due to unknown reasons, leaving behind his three-year-old son and heir, Aloysius, in the care of Alphonse's younger sister, Delphine, who later married a Cepheus Fawley. Mr. Fawley obviously didn't think the Manor was safe because he took his wife and the young heir to an undisclosed location. It was only in 1568 that Aloysius returned to the Manor, together with his own young bride, Helene," Hermione paused, her eyes swiftly scanning the words on the next couple of pages. After several turns, her fingers stopped on a line that clearly captured her interest. "There were no fires reported until 1661, where another Malfoy bride almost died, a certain Elethea Edwardson married to Alcaeus Abraxas Malfoy in the spring of 1660," she paused again, scanning and turning pages. "That's all. Nothing more was said about them. I have a feeling that the rest of their history was removed. See there?" she pointed to a jagged piece of parchment sticking out at the bottom of the tome. "It looks like a page was torn out," she said, carefully closing the book.

"An attempt to hide something, perhaps? What's that you're reading anyway?" Draco asked, pulling the tome toward him. There was no title engraved on its cover, but the spine read: House Malfoy 1500-1700. Their family must've had several historians in their employ, he thought as he scanned the pages for himself. Pureblood families meticulously recorded their own history for posterity, a family historian wasn't such a far-fetched idea. He never did give these ancient tomes a second glance before, not really that interested in his ancient lineage. He couldn't believe how far back the Malfoy name went. Catching sight of another tome - 1700-1900, he deftly yanked it from Hermione's stack and flipped through it.

"I've already read that one. No records of any fire," she said, slamming back against the chair, her brows knitted in a thoughtful frown. "I did notice something, though. There were a couple of names...blocked out," she chuckled, "Scratched out, rather furiously, actually."

Indeed, she was right. As he flipped through the pages, he saw that there were in truth more than just a couple of blocked-out names - 15th of August in the year 1715, Antoine Malfoy, at the age of 25, took to wife, (scratched out), daughter of (scratched out) and (scratched out), from the town of Tolpuddle...27th of March in the year 1785...30th of December in the year 1835...14th of May in the year 1895.

All of the entries in the tome started with a marriage between a Malfoy heir and their bride and followed by a brief narration regarding the couples' offsprings, their contribution to the Malfoy fortune (lands purchased, gold acquired, business ventures/partnerships), issues and/or problems encountered in running their growing empire and such. They all ended with the dates of the deaths of the couples. But for those entries with blocked out names, some of the details were also erased.

"Someone's trying to cover up something, don't you think?" Hermione asked. Draco couldn't agree more.

"Someone wants to keep certain things about House Malfoy secret. My father never really talked about our ancestors. He probably never even opened any of these." He's always suspected that there were 'undisclosed facts' in his family's public version of Malfoy history.

"Hmmm...you know...I think I remember seeing a few diaries at the back," Hermione said, jumping to her feet and running towards the far end of the library. When she came back, she was holding a small but thick leather-bound book in her hand. "I saw this the first time that I came here to research about the curse. The others were written in French, just like the one with the M.B. Malfoy initials, but this one's written in English. I didn't think it was important back then so I didn't take it out. But when I came across the name Elethea Edwardson, this got me into thinking. Look at this here," she said, flipping the cover open, her finger going to the dedication on the very first page:

**_'My dearest Elie,_ **

**_As you begin your married life today, I pray that you find joy and love with your husband. Your father had this made especially for you to keep your thoughts in so you will never lose sight of who you are. We are always here for you, my dearest daughter. You will always be in our hearts._ **

**_Forever,_ **

**_Your loving mother'_ **

"I have a feeling that this is Elethea Edwardson's diary," Hermione said, turning the fragile pages carefully. "I'll take this with me. Maybe this could shed some light on what happened during their time here at the Manor. There are only two records of a fire breaking out in the Manor - the last one was when Elethea was in residence."

"Okay, see if you can get a glimpse of her time here. Where's the other diary, the one with M.B. Malfoy engraved on it? I can take a look at that if you want."

"You know how to read French?" Hermione asked, smirking.

Draco chuckled. "Oui, ma chѐre Hermione. As you probably have gathered by now, the Malfoys originally came from France. Therefore, French is a second language to us. German is a close third and Italian...well...only when I need to pick-up Italian girls," he said the last with a snort. Blaise would hex him if he told him that.

"Well, well, well. It seems that you're quite the linguist, Malfoy," she laughed.

He chuckled and said, "If you only know how often I got punished for running away from my tutors. The only time that I was able to appreciate my extra lessons was when we were traveling. It made it easier to meet...well...girls."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, a slight frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. Draco's heart fluttered at her apparent chagrin.

_Is she jealous?_

_She's irritated at your inanity, stupid, not due to anything else._

_Oh, shut up! Can't a bloke dream?_

_Well, then, dream on, fool! Because the great Hermione Granger will never see you as anything more than the annoying git who tormented her for-_

_SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!_

Without meaning to, his hand slammed on the table with a deafening bang making Hermione jump and eye him warily.

"What was that about?" she snapped at him, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Draco gave out a loud sigh and moved away from the table, returning to his previous seat. "I apologize, Granger. I was...I just...I just remembered something...awful." He couldn't tell her that he was arguing with himself now, could he?

She still eyed him with suspicion, but at least she didn't comment on it further, choosing instead to return her attention to the diary of the Malfoy bride named Elie.

"I put M.B. Malfoy's diary over there if you want to read it," she said, nodding at the stack of books piled on top of the small writing desk set flush against the wall to his far right.

He noticed that she was deliberately avoiding his eyes. Cursing silently, he walked to the desk and searched for the diary. Upon locating it, he returned to his chair and started reading, eager to find anything that could help them understand the magic surrounding the Manor. He just wished that he'd be able to sift through all the gushiness. M.B. Malfoy (Madeleine?) seemed pretty much in love with her husband. He was actually surprised by that. Pureblood marriages were always arranged. At least, that's what he knew about the Malfoy line, including his parents'. And his parents' parents...and their...well, hell, everyone he knew! A few pages in and he found himself inadvertently enjoying (horrors!) Madeleine's (he's now sure that M. B. Malfoy is Madeleine Beaufonte) sweet sentimentality. Who knows? He might get some tips on how to approach a prickly creature such as Granger.

_Wait! Where did that come from? Are you seriously planning on wooing the best friend of your archenemy, the Chosen One of the Wizarding World, the righteous St. Pothead? You must be completely mental!_

_SHUT UP!_

Draco took a deep breath before returning to the tales of Madeleine Beaufonte. He was just getting to the juicy part - her thoughts on her wedding night - when a loud pop beside him almost made him jump (guilty?).

"M-master Draco..." Mimsy stammered, wringing the hem of her apron.

"What is it, Mimsy?" Draco asked, a cold chill running down his spine when he saw Mimsy's eyes brimming with unshed tears. Not a good sign.

"What happened, Mimsy?" Hermione was now standing beside him, her hand absently clutching his shoulder in apparent dread.

Draco almost flinched at the contact. Not because he didn't like it, but because he was jolted by the unexpected pleasure that coursed through his body. And he really shouldn't be feeling that way, considering that Mimsy appeared to be on the verge of tears.

"I-it's...Tinder is back, Master. They is all back," she said before crumpling down on the floor, wailing unabashedly.

Hermione was beside Mimsy in a flash, rubbing the crying elf's back and whispering consoling words. "Shh...it's okay, Mimsy. Tell us what happened. Everything's going to be just fine, you'll see," she crooned.

That seemed to work because the elf's caterwauling slowly wound down to soft sniffles.

"Where's Tinder, Mimsy," Draco asked softly, careful not to upset the elf.

Mimsy looked up at Hermione, as if asking for permission, which she appeared to give immediately with a nod. Had Mimsy, who had been in the Malfoy family even before Draco was born, shown that kind of respect for someone other than Hermione, he would've been furious. Instead, his heart swelled at how the former Gryffindor had earned his house-elves' loyalty and affection in such a short time. He'd rather not think about why he felt that way. Not now, anyway. There were more important matters to attend to than his convoluted emotions for his former enemy.

"They's all at the kitchens, Master," Mimsy said, nodding vigorously as she got up to her feet with the help of Hermione.

"Go on ahead, Mimsy. Tell Tinder that we'll be there shortly," Draco said, extending his arm to Hermione to indicate that he wanted her to apparate with him. He could've let her go with Mimsy, but he couldn't pass up another chance to have her close.

In spite of the seriousness of the situation? his annoying inner voice nagged, turning his earlier words against him. Choosing to ignore (and irritate) his infuriating 'conscience', he placed his hand over the one Hermione laid on his arm like she'd been doing it her entire life.

Paying no mind to the (now becoming common) frantic beating of his heart, Draco closed his eyes and apparated them into the kitchens where all his unwholesome thoughts were quickly overtaken by the outrage that bloomed inside him at the sight that greeted them. Lying on the cold, marble floor were his five 'spies', their bodies stiff and staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, their mouths twisted in various impressions of fright or anger.

"Oh, Merlin!" cried Hermione as she walked towards the elves.

Draco's attention, however, shifted to the lone elf who was banging his head against the hard, wooden trestle table near the far end of the room. Tinder was punishing himself. Severely.

"Tinder! Stop it!" he bellowed, limping as fast as he could towards the old elf. He grabbed Tinder's shoulders and pulled him away from the table. Draco had to pull the small, struggling body flush against his to prevent Tinder from inflicting further harm on his own person. "Enough, Tinder! I forbid you from punishing yourself!" he growled, clamping both hands on the elf's shoulders. He knew that he no longer had to power to impose his will on a freed elf, but he hoped that those words would at least get through the fog in Tinder's mind. When the old elf stopped squirming against his hold, Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

"I's kilt them! I's kilt them!" Tinder howled, pulling mercilessly at the sparse hair on his head. "I's kilt them...I's kilt them..." he sobbed as he slumped against the chair that Draco had made him sit on.

"No, you did not, Tinder," Hermione said, turning her head towards them.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, hoping that Hermione wasn't just saying those words to console the elf that she had learned to care for.

"They're not dead, Draco. They've been petrified," she replied.

"They's not dead?" Tinder sniffed, his face brightening with hope.

Hermione smiled and nodded. "They're alive, Tinder. And we can bring them back."

"Petrified? As in like the Muggle-borns during our second year at Hogwarts?" He regretted his words the moment he realized that Hermione was one of those Muggle-borns. Fortunately, she didn't seem to take offense. Hermione just nodded at him absently, her brows knitted in thought. Draco had an inkling about what she was thinking. Only two things could cause petrification - a Gorgon and a Basilisk. And as far as he knew, they were both rare and practically extinct. There's also never been any report of a Gorgon residing in England and the last known Basilisk allegedly had been destroyed by St. Pothead when he was but a twelve-year-old boy. Could someone be breeding Basilisks again?

"It fits the pattern, doesn't it? The snake venom, the asp...and now...this. A Gorgon has snakes for hair while a Basilisk is known as the King of Snakes," she said, turning back to him with wide eyes, her face as white as sheet. "They're all connected."

Draco nodded in agreement, having arrived at the same conclusion.

"Tinder, where did you find them?" Draco asked, his heart clenching with dread.

"Zabini Mansion. Tinder is finding them all at Zabini Mansion," the old elf replied.

If blood could freeze while still coursing through one's body, that's what would've happened to Draco's. He flinched at the physical pain that the implied betrayal caused. Blaize Zabini had been his friend even before he stepped foot at Hogwarts. What could he have done that was so terrible to deserve such treachery from Blaise? He was still trying to come to terms with what appeared to be solid proof of his (former) friend's crimes when he felt a short, sharp tug at his robes. Looking down, he saw that Tinder was now standing before him, his sorrowful eyes conveying more than words could.

"Master Blaise...gone..." Tinder said.

A chill slithered down Draco's spine.

"What do you mean 'gone'? Blaise is not at the mansion?"

Tinder shook his head. "Dead. Master Blaise dead. They's all dead."

This time, Draco really did feel his blood freeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, anyone?


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